Who Steers the World
by yorickjones
Summary: The 25th Century. Buck Rogers and his crew of Solar Scouts discover a mysterious planet that was once home to another displaced Earth hero centuries before - a man named Flash Gordon. This is a story told in installments - check back each week!
1. Chapter 1

**[AUTHOR'S NOTE: For clarification's sake I should inform my readers that this story is based in the "classic" worlds of Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, i.e. their original pulp/comic strip continuities. Though I have included some elements (like Twiki) from other iterations, this is not a fanfic of the '70s Buck Rogers show or the recent Flash Gordon series. That said, sit back and enjoy an old school sci-fi adventure in serial form!]**

**WHO STEERS THE WORLD**

_Chapter One: AN IRRESISTIBLE PULL_

The message continued to repeat on a maddening loop as the ship pitched ever more willfully towards the land mass below.

"Really, Alura, can't you do anything to shut that up?"

From her station at the rear of the bridge, the pretty blonde in a Solar Scout's ensign uniform looked up from her instruments, clearly frustrated, "Don't you think I would have by now if I could? The transmitters below are more powerful than anything we've seen before, they're overriding the whole com array!"

The young man at the navigation post, a baby-faced but steel-eyed corporal, added, "Don't you have more pressing concerns, Buck? Like not letting us end up as a crater on that planet out the window?"

The ship's pilot, growing alarmed at the speed at which the world below was rushing up to greet them, ceded his crewman's point, "When you're right, Buddy, you're right." Turning to his co-pilot, first officer, and wife - a woman as cool under pressure as any seasoned doughboy he'd served with in the Great War - Colonel Anthony "Buck" Rogers of the Interplanetary Solar Scouts, Earth Division, tried to sound characteristically casual, "Wilma, now might be a good time to consult with Theo and Huer about our options here."

"On it, Buck," Wilma responded in a clipped, military tone, an inflection she dropped when she was alone with her husband, discarded as easily as her uniform, "but keep an eye on the inertron stabilizers - they're feeling the strain."

"Will do."

She released her controls, abandoning the currently useless weapons command and reaching for a button set in the main console between the pilot and co-pilot's stations. Responding to her silent summons came the small tapping of metallic footfalls on polished bulkhead and a familiar digital voice.

"Somebody order an artificially-intelligent blowhard?"

Standing now on the bridge was a child-sized android wearing a circular computer around its neck like a large trophy medal. The computer replied to its chromium alloy-plated bearer, lights flickering across the vaguely face-like arrangement of its circuit-board, "You realize you could just as easily have been describing yourself, don't you, Twiki?"

"Snipe at each other later, you two," Wilma interjected as a strong shudder rippled through their ship's hull, "Dr. Theopolis, I assume you've brought our current situation to Dr. Huer's attention via sub-space web?"

"I have," the computer spoke again, "and I'm afraid we have reached the same conclusion-"

"Which is?" shouted Buck over the ship's alarms which had just been triggered by another groaning jolt through every rivet and beam of their small, fast ship.

"The mountain range we are approaching is composed of an ultra-magnetic ore that seems highly attuned to the mineral properties of our ship's metals. I would say that once we came within the field of its influence, the entire mountain became, in effect, a naturally-ocurring tractor beam."

"How do we pull ourselves free?" Wilma asked.

For all his intricate programming, Dr. Theopolis, a highly advanced A.I. with something approaching feelings of loyalty and friendship for the humans aboard this plummeting ship, was still incapable of delivering the next piece of information without a cold edge in his synthesized voice: "We do not. Our inertron drives are insufficient to counteract the magnetic pull of the mountains below, and further taxing them will only result in blowing this ship apart well before we crash planet-side."

With a dry throat, Buddy said, "So, either way we-" But a look from his sister Wilma shut him up quickly. When the ship shuddered again, he moved his grav-locked chair next to Alura's. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

Fighting the ship's controls, Buck didn't at first realize that Wilma had returned to his side. She placed a hand on his arm and he shot her a quick smile. She studied that face - the determined brow dotted with sweat just below the edge of his flight helmet, the keen brown eyes masked behind its visor, the mouth...she lingered on the mouth. Looking on the face of that remarkable man, a man whose boundless capability had made him a legend across the galaxy and across centuries, she was flushed with a love that startled her and a pride beyond that derived from any of her myriad accomplishments that this man was her partner in life. And perhaps death as well.

Every joint and rib of their long-range exploratory cruiser, an X5-Comet barely off the line, squealed and rattled as they broke the cloud cover of the colorful alien world waiting below. The rust-orange peaks of the mountain range were barely a mile beneath and growing closer with each second.

"Hang tight, everybody," Buck announced, "we're going in." And to the shock of his crew, Buck shut the power to all the ship's drives. He gripped the manual sticks for the flaps and air brakes in his gloved hands.

"I love you, Buck," Wilma said.

He flashed a wink at his wife, "Right back at you, sister."

The Comet, much like its namesake, cut a swath through the pink skies on a groundward suicide plunge and aboard all was eerily quiet save the same broadcast message that had brought them so dangerously close to this world in the first place. "Greetings, traveler!" a woman's voice, speaking in perfect English, endlessly repeated, "You are welcomed in peace and friendship by the united peoples of Free Mongo!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: THE WORLD THAT SHOULDN'T BE _

What followed was not the expected fatal crash but to coin it a landing would be generous. Using available external forces to counteract the pull of the magnetic mountains, namely the stormy air currents snaking around the formations of the range, Buck desperately worked the ailerons on the cruiser's fins to rock the ship. He prayed to a God that his 25th century companions largely dismissed that his attempts to wag and fishtail the Comet against the buffering winds would help increase the drag of their ship, provide a gliding brake against their descent...and they did, the proof coming forty seconds later as Buck successfully banked the cruiser off one snow-dressed mountain slope and pointed the crippled craft at a passably smooth shelf of rock some seven hundred feet farther down. Despite the magnetic attraction of the very cliffs they met on the way down, the ship's velocity caused it to skip like a stone until it came to a crumpled, hissing stop atop a slanted crag.

Inside the ship's bridge, the impact foam filling the cabin began to soften and disintegrate like a mound of soap bubbles, allowing Buck and Wilma to see how close they had come to being flattened and/or bisected by the collapsed nose and cockpit. All viewscreens and portholes had shattered and spider-webbed. Strips of gleaming metal skin peeled away from the ship's framework making it appear as if the elegantly angular Comet had been crumpled in a giant's fist. Smoke was escaping every atmospheric vent and swirling out of the various rends in the Comet's hull and the ship's systems offered one last weak siren before dying altogether. Buck, still tensed in his chair, drooped with one loud exhale of air. The following silence was immediately broken by a moan from behind.

"Buddy?!" came Alura's panicked voice.

Buck and Wilma freed themselves from their chairs and rushed to Buddy's side. The corporal was slumped over Alura's communications banks, unconscious and still. Wilma immediately checked the vitals badge on Buddy's uniform, something the young female officer had neglected to do in her fear.

"He's all right, Alura," Wilma reported, her eyes quickly assessing the tiny readouts flashing across the small rectangular badge, "He's just out cold."

At this Buck had to smile as he often did whenever his wife used one of his "ancient idioms." He knelt beside his brother-in-law, "Let's get him out of here."

Buck reached for the controls on Buddy's jump belt, the amazing harness that nearly all of Earth's inhabitants used for everyday travel. Composed chiefly of inertron, the same extradimensional material with anti-matter-like properties that powered Earth's airships and interstellar craft, the jump belts gave ordinary men something very near the power of flight. At the least it could lighten a prone human body to the weight of a feather. With the belt activated Buck made a light tug at Buddy's shoulder in an effort to lift him into the air - but to no effect. A look of comic puzzlement graced Buck's features. "Huh." He reset Buddy's belt to the highest setting, one that should have sent the unconscious man to the cabin's ceiling like an untethered balloon but, again, to no avail.

"Wilma, Alura, check your jump belts," Buck requested, trying his own as he did so. "Anything?" But the women's perplexed expressions told him all he needed to know.

Wilma addressed their computerized advisor, "Dr. Theopolis, is there some reason our inertron belts aren't functioning?"

"Early analysis reveals many peculiarities in regards to this world," Theopolis began normally enough though Buck's keen ears detected an odd crackle in the computer's 'voice.' "Atmospheric and geologic conundrums and a -rrrn- disturbing astronomic-ic fact."

The crew of the Comet shared a concerned look. "You okay, Doc?" Twiki asked his invaluable passenger but Buck more urgently pressed, "What is it, Theo? What's the 'disturbing astronomic fact?'"

"Dddddoesn't belong -rrrrnn- here."

"Doctor Theopolis?" Wilma inquired, holding the sides of the computer mind's circular housing. "Can you tell us what's wrong?"

"Makes-akes nnnnnnnnnnnno sense. No senses. Of which the ttttttypical human has five - five, though a small percentage-tage exhibits a range of psychic abilities commonly referrrrrred to as the 'sixth sense.' Bbbbb-Billy Preston was often -rrrrn- referred to as -as - as - referred to as 'the sixth Beatllllllle."

The look Wilma shot Buck mirrored his own: they needed Theopolis now more than ever, but there was nothing to be done. "Twiki, can you shut him down?" Buck asked grimly. "At least until we can get in touch with Dr. Huer back on Earth."

"Sure, Buck, I just hate to is all," Twiki replied before addressing Theopolis, "Get some sleep, Doc. I hope you feel better in the morning."

Activating an override relay in the network umbilical that connected him to Theopolis, Twiki powered the computer off. His friends watched sadly as Theopolis' display went dark behind its plasteel face.

"He - _uhn_ - he was right, you know," said Buddy who was not only awake but also struggling to his feet.

"Buddy!" Alura cried, reaching out to study him. "Oh, you're all right!"

"That's what I said," Wilma muttered, unheard by any except Buck.

Mindful of Buck's smirk, Buddy gently removed his girlfriend's hands, "Sure I am. No need to make a fuss, 'Lura."

"Who was right, Buddy?" Buck asked.

"Theopolis," said Buddy, gently touching a place at the back of his head and wincing, "I heard what he said about this planet not belonging here. That explains the readings I was getting on the nav com. Once we picked up that welcoming beacon and triangulated its source co-ords, what the computer was telling me was - well, let's just say I triple-checked the data. According to the last survey of this sector by the AstroCartogs and verified by long-range probe six years ago, this planet didn't exist."

There was a second's stunned silence which Wilma broke, "And you didn't think to share this intel?"

Buddy rankled at his sister's chiding tone, "I just assumed a mistake had been made somewhere because - I mean, there's definitely a planet here! Am I wrong?"

Buck was already standing at the hatch control panel, "Only one way to find out." He activated the auto-hatch with a swipe of his hand. Locks hissed as they separated and though they complained, grinding and vibrating, the door slid open and the ladder extended as they had been made to. His face bathed in the rosy light of an alien sun, Buck looked back to his crew. "Who's up for a look around the world that shouldn't be?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: THE THING IN THE MIST_

Just as Dr. Theopolis had relayed from his initial scans the air about them was slightly more oxygen-rich than that of Earth. But what Theopolis had not informed them of (and quite possibly wouldn't have deemed it important enough to do so) was how strangely sweet the air was. Sweet on the tongue and smelling of unknown spices, the air of this world was an improvement over Earth's atmosphere which seemed permanently charred from centuries of war and industrial pollution. Buck took a deep breath and released it reluctantly.

"Mongo," he said, rolling the word around his mouth.

"A little too close to _'Mongol'_ for my taste," Wilma offered. It was a flimsy bias, but Buck understood. Wilma had grown to adulthood fearing and fighting the so-called "Red Mongols," a tyrannical movement with a self-proclaimed emperor at its head which had conquered their native Asia and a majority of the planet long before she'd been born. Their Draconian Empire had only fallen fairly recently and Buck was proud to have been a part of the unified rebellion of free-thinking Earthmen that finally overthrew their overlords. The years since had seen the creation of the Solar Scouts, originally an exploratory fleet that quickly became an interstellar armada when alien forces began making their presences known to the previously isolated third planet from the star Sol. And Colonel Rogers, former engineer and war veteran, was at the center of it all. No, Buck had not known many moments of true peace since he awoke in the 25th century, but it certainly hadn't been boring.

They had paused in their descent by foot of the red-brown mountainside and were gazing out over the landscape. The view was spectacular, a panorama that encompassed hundreds of miles in one sweep of the eyes. Buck could see lush blue-green forests and glistening purple lakes, far-off crimson mountain peaks and the spires and towers of what were surely fantastic cities. He was not so inured to space exploration that the prospect of a whole new world to discover failed to stir him, indeed, despite his crew's precarious situation - shipwrecked on an alien planet with no way to contact home - Buck found himself grinning from ear to ear.

"Nothing in Earth records about this place, by name or by coordinates," he mused aloud.

"Correct," replied Wilma.

"And yet the voice on the welcoming beacon was speaking pure, unfiltered, untranslated English."

"True," Alura contributed, "although the beacon was layered with the same message in forty-two other tongues, only twelve of which our computers could recognize."

"_Forty-two?_" Buddy exclaimed with a whistle, "That's a lot of people we haven't met yet."

Squinting against the light of Mongo's large sun which was dipping towards the horizon, Buck replied to his young corporal and brother-in-law, "It's a big universe, Buddy, we're just getting started."

"_There's_ a beaut of an understatement," Twiki jabbed.

The harsh late day light eased as the sun had moved behind the mountain's peak. The shadow that had slipped over them brought an instant cool.

"First though, we need to find ourselves a good spot for a base camp for it would appear that night is falling on Mongo."

As a thick, swirling sea of phosphorescent green mist crept up the sides of the mountain, dampening the explorers' clothes and reducing their visibility to almost nil they set up their shelters quickly, each automated to self-construct from the scout packs each of them wore on their backs. The light but strong polycloth tents were gently lit by the cylindrical radial stove which had cooked their rations and warmed them throughout the chilly, shrouded night.

Wilma, by default, planted three small motion alarms in a triangle two hundred yards from camp, but they still agreed to break the evening into four watch shifts (in light of Theopolis's meltdown, it had been decided that Twiki should spend the night in self-diagnostic sleep mode). Buddy's first two hour stretch offered nothing but the hypnotic shifting mists and the occasional sounds of far off wildlife, the same for Wilma's watch. It was during the switch off, literally as Wilma's hand reached out to rouse Buck, that they first heard the sound.

From some distance below the camp came the gritty crunch of stones shifting under a great weight. And, more disturbingly, the sound of the scrabbling claws of whatever was clambering over those rocks. Unseen and unseeable through the blanketing mist, something very large was heading toward them.

"Buck-!" Wilma whispered urgently, but her husband was already awake and freeing his gun from its holster.

He put a finger to his lips just as the first of the motion alarms was triggered. The piercing whoop did its job and awakened the other two of their party but appeared to have no affect in warning off the approaching creature. The scrabbling sound intensified as the thing bore down on their campsite and the Solar Scouts wordlessly knelt in a defensive line, pistols primed and humming.

There was a chuffing of breath coming closer, pushing the fog into roiling plumes. A huge shadow behind a brilliant green curtain. And then it was upon them, parting the mists and limned by the light of Mongo's moons, a reptilian giant twelve feet from foot to head with two rows of amber compound eyes above its snout and an open mouth full of needle-like fangs. It reared back its enormous neck and roared, spraying the Earthlings with gobs of stinging spittle.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four: SNATCHED FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH!_

"Fire!" shouted Buck Rogers.

Their lightweight guns (naively dubbed "rocket pistols" by the newly awakened Buck) propelled two types of ammunition: one, an explosive cartridge that detonated with precise and devastating forward force and the second which, upon contact, vibrated at a rate that disrupted molecular cohesion, acting like a messier, small scale version of the Earth fleet's disintegrator rays. Fearsome weapons indeed, but what was more intimidating to Buck and his crew was the apparent lack of effect their weapons were having on the beast.

Enraged at the brilliant blasts peppering its plated hide, the creature struck out with its foremost set of claws, the talons describing virtual gashes in the thick scrim of emerald mist.

"Scatter," Wilma commanded them and the quartet dove in varied directions, feeling for rocks large enough to offer cover, each one silently wondering how to defeat a beast that could shrug off disruptor bolts like nothing more than a swarm of horseflies.

Clearly frustrated at its quarry's reluctance to stay put and be slaughtered, the creature bellowed again and darted its serpentine head at the nearest target which happened to be Alura. Before she had a chance to voice her terror, Buck leaped onto the thing's back, causing it to clamp its steaming jaws shut and comically attempt to swivel its neck 180° to spot its uninvited rider. As it did so Buck fired off a shot directly into one of its eyes, the orb exploding like a jellied egg.

The beast screamed at ear-bursting volume and whipped its head back, unseating Buck in the process. It was a short, breathless tumble to the ground and Buck felt his right arm and a couple of his ribs break.

At Buck's cry Wilma broke cover, paying no heed to the enormous beast now charging their camp, snapping with teeth, claws and its spined tail. In its thrashings, the creature ruptured the power core of their radial oven and Wilma grabbed the crackling thing in her gloved hands, careful not to look into its unshielded brilliance.

"Go, Wilma!" she heard her brother encourage followed by the barrage of his drawing fire, turning the beast in his direction and allowing her the opening she needed. She dove forward blindly into the absolute green. Holding the oven before her, she made her way to where Buck lay. She knelt on the rock floor and felt about her until her free hand settled on his chest.

Perhaps smelling her or using its remaining eyes, the creature spun from Buddy and chased Wilma instead. She could feel the wind its head made as it swung towards her. Its terrible mouth opened barely two feet from her face. Without thinking Wilma tossed the damaged cannister oven into its maw. The beast reflexively clamped down.

An explosion of freed energy rippled through the creature and dully lit the length of its throat. If it had still possessed vocal chords at this moment it would have surely screamed, instead it went rigid in a whipcrack of its body, all three sets of limbs flailing out and starting small rock slides with their sweeps. And finally the thing sank to the ground, flat and still.

"I thought I saw -," came Buck's strained voice, snapping Wilma's attention back to her husband. She could make out his head lifted through no doubt quite some effort.

"Buck? I can't read your stat badge, are you okay?"

"When the explosion happened," Buck continued with a slight grunt, "I saw shapes in the fog. Shadows."

Wilma knew her husband well enough not to discount his claims as the addled impressions of a traumatized mind but she could only deal with the task at hand. "Okay, then let's hope they keep their distance for the time being." She then called out, "Buddy, Alura! Buck's hurt! I could use some help here!"

Both of the junior officers responded in the affirmative and were audibly beginning to make their way to Wilma and Buck when the unthinkable occurred. With an unsteady, shuddering effort, the collapsed beast rose again.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Buck exclaimed as he painfully rolled clear of the creature's suddenly reanimated tail. Alura was not so lucky as the powerful appendage swiped her off her feet and sent her sailing into the remains of their tents where she was nearly knocked unconscious against the hard surface of Twiki's prone form.

"'Lura!" Buddy bellowed impotently, breaking into a blind scramble for her which is how he ended up putting himself in range of the beast's snout. It was breathing wetly, blood filling the back of its throat, as it again opened its mouth now full of cracked and shattered fangs. Buddy froze.

They made a whistling sound as they passed which is the only way Buddy knew the razor cords had arced through the mist, propelled on their course by powered boomerang leads. The three cords lassoed across the creature's open mouth, wrapping around and meeting at the back of its head. There was a rapid mechanical ticking sound as the cords constricted and a terrible ripping as they sliced through the creature's flesh. Buddy had recovered himself and dodged for the rocks or he would have seen the beast's head bisected in a cruelly efficient manner. Without so much as a twitch of reaction the great lizard-like creature collapsed for the final time.

"Buddy?" Alura called out in the sudden quiet.

"I'm here, 'Lura, follow the sound of my voice."

"Hold off on that, Alura," Buck cautioned from his position yards away, his head now cradled in Wilma's lap. He had been watching the same spot where he'd glimpsed the shadows before and one quick glance shot to Wilma proved that she sensed them too. "I don't think we're alone here."

"I know we're not," Buddy replied, "but whoever they are, they just saved the lot of us. I figure they can't be all bad."

At this a light went on in the thick emerald fog, a thin shaft of vertical light. Then another and another. As the Solar Scouts watched five staves of light broke the darkness and, as they were apparently designed to do, they began dissolving the mist in a fifteen foot umbrella all about the group of men holding them. And they _were_ men, much to Buck's surprise and relief, though no less unique.

Two of this group were dwarfish in size, not quite four foot in height, but powerfully built, their skin a deep earthen brown. By contrast another of the party was quite tall, bestial looking and remarkably hairy. At the forefront of the group was a man as simply dressed as the others and equipped like the others with various lances, razor cords and short swords, but this one was clearly their leader. He was a strikingly handsome bald man with light skin and vaguely Asian-seeming features. But the member of this group that gave Buck and Wilma the greatest pause was the curly haired young man at the leader's right - the young man with the full pair of lustrous gray feathered wings folded at his back.

"Buck-," Wilma started.

"I know," he whispered back.

Despite Buck's command, Buddy had brought Alura over to join their comrades. They did so gingerly, but their rescuers made no move. The group's leader was merely eyeing them inscrutably, but suddenly the brutish giant was barking at them in a rolling, guttural tongue.

"Talwah kur'tesh va gurgatash eksessuh tunk-tunk!"

Both Buck and Wilma looked to their resident communications officer but Alura just shrugged helplessly.

The leader finally spoke and did so in perfect, mellifluous English. "Easy, Trelek," he said, addressing his companion but not taking his eyes off Buck, "I don't believe our new friends here understand you. But Gordonish you understand very well, don't you?"

"_Gordonish_?" Buck replied, trying to keep the pain he was feeling out of his inflection.

The leader was now squatting close to Buck and Wilma, smiling as he said, "My companion was just questioning your intelligence and your sanity for making camp so close to the caves of the cliff dragons. But I suspect you knew no better, correct?"

Buck didn't blink, keeping his gaze locked on that of this man of Mongo. He knew that Wilma would compensate by watching the others, cataloging their weapons and gauging their reactions. What she was seeing right now was a group just as mystified at their leader's words as they themselves. The winged man's feathers ruffled uncertainly.

"In fact," the light skinned man continued, leaning his light staff closer to Buck's face, "I would wager that these people are visitors to our world. Tell me, stranger, how fares the planet Earth?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five: THE PATROL_

Buck's face revealed nothing but Buddy gave voice to his thoughts.

"What do you know about Earth?"

Wilma shot her brother a harsh, disapproving look and the young corporal swallowed reflexively.

The leader of the band of rescuers looked into each of the Solar Scouts' faces, studying them. "It amazes me that your people have no idea how closely entwined are the destinies of Earth and Mongo."

The winged man looked to his leader, "You mean they have not heard of-"

"No," the bald man interjected, standing again, "I don't think they have."

"Look, fella," Buck spoke, sitting up and blinking away the fresh agony this gesture provoked, "we greatly appreciate the assist with the – 'cliff dragon' was it? And you're right about us being strangers here-"

The bald man raised a hand and looking past him, Buck thought he could see the lightening of the night sky. "Your caution is well-advised and understandable. I am Travin of the Unheard."

Buck indicated each of his crew in turn, "Colonel Buck Rogers of the Interplanetary Solar Scouts. Captain Wilma Deering. Corporal Buddy Deering and Ensign Alura."

"You're hurt, Colonel Rogers," Travin observed. "You should come with us so we can tend to your injuries."

Buck opened his mouth to speak, but this time it was Wilma who answered. "Thank you, Travin," she accepted on their behalf.

Travin inclined his head in a genteel bow and then addressed the two brown-skinned dwarves of his company, "Urt, Elone, help Colonel Rogers to his feet – _gently._"

They moved forward to do so and Buck braced for pain as their small rough hands grabbed at his torso and left arm and hauled. He grit his teeth and hissed, tears burning at the edge of his eyes. Powerless to help, Wilma could only tenderly run her fingers along his back while the dwarves propped her husband up like a mannequin.

Travin had turned to his winged friend, "Nulan, your pouch."

The hawkman nodded and freed a leather pouch from his belt, handing it to Travin. From within it Travin withdrew what looked like a small button. Without a word or warning, he pressed the button to a vein in Buck's exposed neck. Buck barely flinched as the tiny needle on the underside of the button pierced his skin.

"What was_ that?_" asked Wilma, still wary of these new acquaintances.

"No, no – it's okay, Wilma," Buck said, his eyes suddenly clear and a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Feels … I feel good!"

Travin shared a look with his men and laughed. "And you should, my friend. That was an extract of Omadrian night vine and it is very kind to those in pain. Now come, let us make for our village while we still have some cover of mist."

Wilma turned to find Buddy and Alura already gathering what materials could be salvaged from their ruined camp. In the beginnings of dawn she could see what a toll their crash landing and subsequent battle with the local fauna had wrought. Bruised and bloody, the quartet of Solar Scouts conducted themselves with an efficiency that made Wilma proud.

"Alura, could you boot Twiki?"

"Right away, captain."

Travin extinguished his light staff, the brilliant rose of the morning sun making it unneeded.

"You Earthmen are lucky my tribe found you first," Travin said, noticing in mid-sentence that his brutish friend Grelek had just lifted his head to sniff at the wind, "- for there are worse things afoot on Mongo than..." He trailed off once the shaggy man began to growl, "Grelek, what is it?"

Nulan the hawkman jerked his head in the direction Grelek was sniffing, his eyes wide and sharp. "Patrol," was all he said before wrapping his arms around Travin and spreading his wings.

"Wow," Buck said dreamily as they watched the two men take flight.

"Travin?" Wilma called out but the leader of the Unheard was already too far from earshot. Back on the ground his men were also quickly dispersing. The brown dwarves had practically disappeared and Grelek was bounding downslope for a nearby cave, howling as he went.

Twiki's good humored voice came as odd counterpoint, "Good morning all. Did I miss anything?"

As if in answer, the vehicle appeared.

It zipped soundlessly into view, sweeping rock dust and the remainder of mist aside as it glided ten feet above the cliff face. The transport had a wedge shaped front and short, down-angled wings along the side of its wide midsection. Shiny and colorful – all red and gold where the surface paint hadn't chipped away exposing a dull metal underneath - this craft was obviously for military use as evidenced by the single volley of bolt-form energy it fired from a set of cannons arrayed along the vehicle's roof. They fired at the entrance to the cave Grelek had ducked into and Buck's crew were startled to see the resultant rock slide which effectively sealed that cave permanently.

Unsure of where they would run, Wilma threw Buck's good arm over her shoulder while Buddy rushed up to help by supporting Buck's trunk.

"Whoo," Buddy exclaimed, "were you always this heavy?"

"Not when the jump belts work," Buck replied, stoned and giggling.

Between the Deerings, Buck was encouraged to start moving. Wilma huffed as they dragged her husband, "Buck, darling, we need to run now."

"Right, I know," Buck responded, visibly attempting to clear his mind, "This is serious." He began to run with their support, noting distractedly the sensation of the splintered ribs in his side grinding together as he moved.

The ship had them dead to rights, but had merely been tracking them so far. That changed as Alura stepped forward to cover the desperate escape of her friends. She raised her pistol and Twiki lifted his open palms to expose the barrels of the two disruptor guns built into his arms.

The military craft paused in a hover and its mounted cannons swiveled menacingly, pinning the entire group of shipwrecked Earthlings in their sights. The cannons buzzed, lit from within with brilliant gold energy waiting to be released.

"DISCARD YOUR WEAPONS AND HALT," came a brusque amplified voice broadcast from the ship, "YOU ARE TO BE DETAINED AS HONORED GUESTS OF THE PRESIDENT OF FREE MONGO!"

"Captain?" Alura asked plaintively over her shoulder, still holding her pistol though some of the tension in her arms gone from uncertainty.

Wilma, Buck and Buddy had stopped running along the rocky slope and now Captain Deering looked to her husband. Buck shrugged.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six: POSSUM FALLS_

They were not bound inside the craft but positioned at the head of the ship's hold there was a guard wielding a sharply angular rifle. The guard's body armor was the same crimson and gold as the ship and was adorned with a simplified lightning bolt insignia that Wilma judged to be a sign of rank or squad. The face behind the enclosed full-head helmet was humanoid, unsmiling and blue. Sealed from head to toe, the powder blue-skinned guard was being supplied with a different atmosphere than that of his fellow patrolmen. Buddy, Alura and Wilma could see the faint wisps of gas jetting through the helmet.

"That suit is regulating his body temperature," Twiki said in a somewhat confidential volume. "He's a popsicle."

Wilma gave a small nod and filed the information away.

They had begun their journey with compliance but also with questions. Where were they being taken? Were they prisoners? Who was this president that commanded them? But the Mongo patrolmen (including their frozen friend and two others who appeared to be hawkmen like Nulan) relied on strict military protocol and offered no information beyond their initial orders: the Earthmen were to surrender their weapons and come with them.

For his part, Buck was struggling to think straight. True, he was feeling no pain from his shattered bones, but the night vine elixir was also something of an opiate. Buck's mind was a whirl of memories, dreams and desperate thoughts each sinking and rising like flotsam in the surf. He tried to focus on Wilma.

"I'm sorry..."

"What?"

"I let us down. If I – if I hadn't tried to pull a Tom Mix with that dragon – hadn't gotten so banged up--"

"Nonsense, Buck. You acted to protect us all like you always do," Wilma answered, trying to follow Buck's line of thought, "What's a 'Tom Mix?'"

Buck laughed and it was a languid thing and before he knew it he was baking under the Montana sun again.

He was 14 and he was wearing boots one size too big for him, boots just like Tom Mix wore in the flickers he had seen in the nickleodeons of Charlottesville. This was 1912 and it was one of the summers he spent on his grandfather's ranch.

Against the old man's wishes, he had convinced the ranch hands that he was ready to tame one of the spread's young broncos – a skittish roan they'd named Hot Foot. With all the cockiness of youth he had eased himself into the saddle and, just as quickly as would occur atop Mongo's cliff dragon some five hundred years later, Rogers was thrown to the ground.

What earned the respect of his grandfather's men that day was how he had conducted himself after getting to his feet. The young Rogers had retrieved his hat, wiped the dirt from his chin and told the cowboys to let him know when lunch was ready. And he went right back to Hot Foot.

That was the day that Tony Rogers got the nickname --

"Buck," Wilma's voice came murkily at first, breaking apart Buck's memory. "Buck!" she reiterated, much more sharply.

Tugged back to the present, Buck looked at his wife. She seemed concerned, "We're fine. We just need to get you better."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a reassuring grin.

"Willya look at _that!_" Buddy exclaimed, turned nearly all the way around in his seat. He and Alura were staring out one of the craft's viewports at the landscape racing by underneath them. Both Wilma and Buck joined them.

Nearly a mile below the skimming ship was an arid stretch of desert marked with an enormous crater miles in diameter. And in the center of that giant pit in the landscape were the ruins of what must have been a jewel-like city lying shattered into shards of toppled spires and domes. The sands had swept across and over the ruins but had not covered them, the glints of morning sun catching on the windworn steel and glass. Whatever happened here had happened long ago.

"Was that place bombed?" Alura asked.

Buddy was studying the site even as their ship was quickly leaving it behind, "It looks like it ... fell out of the sky."

"You're right," said Wilma, "that's an impact crater."

"A flying city," Buck suddenly spoke, shaking his head in dreamy disbelief, "Reminds me of our time in Possum Falls."

This was no random memory or drug-induced gibberish, this was a code familiar to the Solar Scouts. Wilma and the others looked to Buck.

In a casual tone Wilma asked, "Really? Possum Falls?" She was searching his eyes for some sign that he was present enough – mentally and physically – to carry out the plan he was suggesting.

"Oh yeah," Buck replied, sounding much more alert than he had moments before and resisting the urge to wink, "Absolutely."

"What the heck's 'Possum Falls?'" Twiki blurted before being silenced by an elbow delivered by Buddy. "Oh, right – Possum Falls."

From the cockpit, the craft's passengers could hear the one-way conversation of the pilots:

"Freedom Pod One, this is Patrol Bird Seven-Oh-Nine on home vector with guests aboard."

Taking that as his cue, Buck started moaning.

"Darling?" Wilma asked, "What's wrong?"

"I think the – I think the elixir is wearing off," Buck replied, tentatively holding his broken right arm with his left hand. He arched his back and cried out.

It was a convincing performance, primarily because there was little acting involved. The dose of night vine extract had actually begun to wear off. On the one hand Buck's head was clearing, on the other his body was slowly remembering its recent traumas.

"Aaagh – it hurts!"

Wilma stood, imploring their guard, "Isn't there anything you can do for him? Any kind of medical supplies on this ship? Can't you see the _pain_ he's in?!"

The frosty visaged guard was shifting his eyes between the groaning, hunched-over male and the exasperated, gesticulating female. The guard motioned the broad side of his rifle at Wilma, "You. Sit back down."

"But he-"

And now Buck escalated his show by seizing up and falling – carefully – to the floor of the ship's hold, landing on his left side. Despite such care the pain from his shattered right side as he hit the bulkhead forced an all too real bellow from Buck.

Their guard was now moved to relay with the flight crew. "Commander, the injured Earthman is in great pain. Should I apply a salve pack or should I put him under with-"

"Do what you like, soldier, just keep him alive," the pilot's voice broadcast in return. "We're on landing trajectory and he'll be somebody else's problem in a minute."

From his place on the floor, Buck continued to gasp and moan, his friends looking on, worried but mindful of the guard. The armored man edged toward Buck, leaning over to examine him.

"What say you, Earthman? Can you survive just a little l-"

No one, not even his compatriots who had been expecting the ploy, could have guessed Buck would move so fast, so powerfully, in his condition. Buck's right leg swept out blindingly fast, clipping the guard solidly at the ankles.

As the surprised guard tumbled forward Wilma went for him, vising his neck in the crook of her arm while using her free hand to pop open the latches of his helmet. He could only release a choked grunt as the seals broke and the coolant gas escaped his suit. Buck was thus able to easily wrest the guard's weapon from his hands. Buck was on his feet in an instant regardless of the fresh wave of pain that washed over him.

Using his good left arm, Buck leveled the rifle at their guard who was on his knees gasping, the veins standing out around his eyes and temples. They had no desire to torture or kill these patrolmen, they were just about to demand control of the ship and some answers. Buck nodded to Buddy and Wilma who then rushed to opposite sides of the cockpit door.

"Tell your men to set this ship down right now," Buck said to the guard. He felt he had delivered the command with some degree of authority and grit but was surprised to see the blue man grin through his heaving breaths.

"I-hidiot," the guard gulped, "Wuh-we're already – huhh – _down!_"

As proof of his pronouncement, the hatch smoothly moved outward from its flush setting and quickly angled down forming a ramp to the scuffed stone platform. The Solar Scouts were startled by the sudden influx of fresh air and sunlight. Buck barely had time to register the expanse of similar ships arranged along the floor of the flight deck and the twin lines of Mongo soldiers forming a corridor at the base of their ship's ramp – easily a hundred or more armored humanoids of various exotic variations all wielding arms and all staring at him holding a rifle on one of their own – before the lizard man standing at the procession's head in a uniform of some higher rank suddenly broke his rigid military pose and launched himself at him, hissing.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven: HONORED GUESTS_

He had slept like this before. Where the solid shell of blackness held him perfectly still. While he was cradled in the void moments or centuries could be slipping by for all he knew or cared. Yes, this was familiar.

But gradually, as from a great distance, there came a sound. A rhythmic reverberating _boom_that by its mere existence returned Buck to some form of awareness. The perfect stillness was spoiled as his consciousness roused and thought gave shape and boundary to the void. Unwelcome Time had reclaimed Buck and he was powerless to do anything but track each pounding exclamation. They were getting louder, maybe closer. Thunder? Artillery?

An ugly thought formed against the steady pounding: _That's cannon fire_. And if that was so then that meant....

It had all been a dream. The homecoming madness at the Charleston docks. The school days at Cornell. Sweet Dora. The consulting work for Eastman Chemical. The surveying job in Pennsylvania. That cold December afternoon. The cave-in. The gas. And if all that had been an invention then what of his awakening in 2419. The rebel gangs of America. Niagra. Huer. Buddy and Alura. Kane and Ardala. Black Barney. Inertron. The jump belts and starships. The trips to Venus and Mars and beyond the solar system. All that wonderful nonsense – _and it had to be nonsense_ – the flimsiest fantasy of a desperate mind under a night sky full of shells and red hot tracers. A dream, it had just been a delusion of the battlefield.

Even Wilma.

It was a thought he could not stomach and the pounding came faster, louder, rattling his skull until he could take it no longer. If he had to die in some sodden patch of St. Mihiel, no doubt twisted in the burning wreckage of his Spad, then so be it. He didn't want a life without-

"I'm here, Buck," she said, sweeping his hair from his forehead, "I'm right here."

He blinked his eyes as the booming faded, slowed. His heart calming in his chest. And the greatest gift in the trade-off of waking for dream was this woman. His beautiful blue-eyed soldier wife. He might have cried from gratitude but chose to laugh instead.

"My God, Wilma, am I glad to see you."

"I wouldn't wonder," she replied with a smile, "you've been whispering and shouting my name for the better part of an hour."

He sat up in bed, not even registering the fact that this movement caused no pain at all, and looked around him. They were in a bedchamber so sumptuous and extravagant that it bordered on ludicrous. Vibrant silks with a metallic sheen were hung or draped from any horizontal or vertical space not already crowded with golden statuary. Even the control panels about the room were cast in rare metals and each button was made of smooth cut gems. The huge bed Buck awoke in was the most comfortable he had ever known and the soft pelt coverings (like rabbit fur, thought Buck) cascaded to the floor where they disappeared under a sea of dazzlingly brocaded throw pillows of various sizes. And most prominently featured of the space's many decorations was a highly unique portrait. It was a holographic representation of a man, an unmistakably human man whose features and coloring were closer to that of an Earthling than any they had thus far encountered on this alien world. Though it was a shimmering three dimensional likeness, the light, shading and detail of the portrait still seemed to have been "painted" in strokes of colored light and thus the representation of the blond haired, blue eyed man in bright primary reds, yellows and blues seemed more like that of a mythical hero than a true human. The man in the portrait was smiling an improbably white smile and his eyes gleamed as he stared off into some eternal horizon.

"Wow," Buck finally said.

"I know, whoever he is they've got shrines to him around practically every corner," Wilma replied, lingering over the man's image.

"I meant the whole room," Buck corrected and watched his wife avert her gaze from the portrait and cover quickly.

"Oh, sure. Just a mite ostentatious, don't you think?"

Buck scratched at the back of his head with his right hand, "I was going to say 'swanky,' but, yeah-" He halted in mid-thought and brought his hand back in front of his face. His _right hand._ His gaze traveled up his arm as he flexed it and worked it at the elbow and shoulder.

"Well I'll be..." he exclaimed softly.

"You're as good as new," Wilma smiled back, "and these people are as good as their word."

"Wilma," Buck started, still gently amazed, "how long was I out?"

She smiled even wider, "A day and a half."

Buck whistled, casting his mind back to the last events he could remember.

The commander of their greeting party, a greenish-gray scaled lizard man in an ornate uniform, had leaped into the ship's holding bay and struck out at Buck. Buck had deflected the blow with the rifle he had won from their hostage guard. Simultaneously, the cockpit's doors had opened and the oblivious flight crew exited. Wilma and Buddy had surprised them by making for their sidearms. They had both pilots pinned by their own guns when they heard the voice.

It was broadcast through the ship and the exterior of the flight deck. It was a masculine voice – calm, warm – speaking fluid English in a relaxed tone.

"Commander Vareenta, please. Let's all stand down shall we?"

At this the lizard man broke his pre-pounce stance and stood obediently aside, hands at his sides, though the raised ridge of spikes running from his crown to the nape of his neck were somewhat more slow to lay flat again.

"These people are our guests," the voice continued, "and while they are understandably cautious towards us, we have to do what we can to earn their trust. And we start by getting out of their faces."

Commander Vareenta nodded to the empty air and gestured to the pilots and the guard, calling them to his side. "Give them room," Vareenta ordered in an airy voice and his men complied.

Buck and the others looked at each other uncertainly but allowed the crew to leave the ship. In passing Alura even handed the weakened guard his helmet. Visibly relieved, he latched it in place and basked in the renewed circulation of his suit's coolant.

With the ship to themselves and the waiting soldiers setting their arms on the ground and stepping back, Wilma and Buck moved forward and down the ship's ramp, still clutching their pilfered weapons. Trying to keep up a facade of alertness and confidence, Buck felt unsure of his feet. The pain-killing elixir had run its course and now the cumulative agony of multiple broken bones and strenuous activity was catching up to him. Sweat was pouring down his face and his vision began to blur. It was at this moment that a grand orchestral march began, blaring throughout the whole of the dazzling metropolis below and past the spire supporting the launch platform. And over the music came the sourceless voice again, "Your attention, freeborn beings of Mongo, join your president in welcoming these visitors from Gordon's Earth to our sparkling capitol Freedom City!"

From everywhere at once came the deafening yet strangely flat cheers of a dutiful populace. Wilma and the others were dumbstruck at the greeting but Buck's reaction was more dramatic. His eyes fluttered back in his head as he passed out cold at the base of the ship's ramp.

"You had us worried for a moment," related Wilma nestling up against her husband in the regally bedecked bed. "But their medics got to you in a wink and promised us you would be tended to immediately. Some sort of ambassador type who looked to be of the same race as our friend Travin swooped in to assure us that all of our needs would be seen to and then we were brought here to the presidential palace. You think this room is garish, wait 'til you see the rest of the place."

Still twisting his torso about, testing the amazing job the medics of Freedom City had done, Buck took it all in. "Has anyone questioned you yet? Or state what they intend to do with us? Have you met their 'president?'"

"That's a 'no' on all counts. We've been looked after by servants – all pleasant and accommodating, all speaking English-"

"Gordonish," Buck archly reminded her.

"Right. They've fed us and bathed us and showed us where the toilets are and how they work, but they haven't been too forthcoming with intel. There is an odd thing, and Buddy and Alura have noticed it too-"

"What's that?"

"They – meaning every native we've met so far – seem sort of … _fascinated_ by us. Their gaze lingers, they never break eye contact, they study us constantly. Alura actually caught one of her attendants pocketing strands of her hair."

"Well it's clear that these people have met our kind before," Buck said, his eyes returning to the amazing portrait. "And whoever it was certainly made a big impact."

Buck sat up and made to swing his legs out of bed.

"Wait," Wilma stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder, "Where are you going?"

Buck's eyebrows lifted in amusement, "As much as I'd love to lounge about like a maharajah all day, I figure somebody's gotta start knocking on some doors around here."

It was rare that Wilma set mission goals aside for any form of distraction so it was a sure sign of how little threat she felt their situation posed that she now stretched her long body across the soft fur blankets and swept a languid hand atop Buck's pillow. "I'm sure they'll come calling soon enough now that all of our squad is hale and hearty, but I can't help but think it would be a shame to leave such a bed so soon..."

Her smile, the different one she only showed her husband when the blood stirred, defeated him. Buck reclined again and leaned into Wilma, kissing her deeply and sending his hand along her neck and shoulder, searching under the cloth of her gown. And above them the eyes of Mongo's hero discreetly kept looking forward into infinity.

Less discreet were the eyes currently watching Buck and Wilma's movements on a crystal clear monitor screen in a chamber somewhere within the palace. Fingers motioned above the screen causing the image to rotate and zoom in relation to their movements. Detached curiosity or voyeuristic perversity, whichever directed the watcher's actions the end result was the same.

A bemused "hmph" the watcher's only response to what he witnessed.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight: SAVIOR OF THE UNIVERSE_

Their flight suits had been mended as perfectly as Buck himself and when they finally rose at the soft chime at the door of their suite Wilma and Buck slid easily back into their close-fitting armored suits. The forest green camouflage of their guerrilla days against the Red Mongols had been replaced by a silver-blue with black piping that now dressed the proud rank and file of the Solar Scouts. Their calf-high boots had been polished to a military sheen. Their lightweight flight helmets and visors were easily folded and stored in the wide, fin-like pockets of their trousers that always reminded Buck of the jodhpurs worn by a fancier brand of horseman than those who worked his grandfather's ranch. Out of habit, Buck and Wilma strapped on their useless jump belts, crisscrossed across their chests, but discovered that their weapons and holsters had not been returned to them.

Answering the door at last, Buck was momentarily taken aback by the figure on the other side. It was a humanoid female in simple gowns of what appeared to be a glistening, moistened cloth, the gown's sleeves and cuffs ending in gloves and slippers that ensured the woman's entire body was covered and saturated. The only part of the female that was visible was her face though it too was covered in a transparent bubble-like hood – a bubble that was filled with the water that the woman needed to breathe. All of this was remarkable enough but a single glance at the woman's face indicated that she must be closely related to the same bestial race as Grelek of the Unheard. The same heavy brow and copious hair that even now was waving gently in the liquid held by her helmet. But her skin was pale green and there were evident gills lining the underside of her jaw. Though he could not have known it, Buck Rogers had just met a hybrid of Mongo, this servant girl Wilma greeted as, "Lontha."

"Mistress," Lontha replied, flashing an alarming mouth full of pointed shark's teeth. Her voice came filtered from her hood's built-in speakers. "I am glad to see you rested and happy. This is your chosen now healthy?"

Wilma smiled and presented Buck, "Yes, this is my husband Colonel Rogers. Buck, this is Lontha."

Buck's expression shifted quickly (he liked to think that adjusting to the new and weird was one of his strengths) and he smiled warmly at the woman. "Pleased to meet you, Lontha."

Even considering the alien set of her features, Lontha's inherent shyness was apparent. She ducked her head in acknowledgment and flashed a sharp, grimace-like smile.

"I have come to collect you as the time has arrived for your meeting with our beloved president, our honorable father and chief."

Buck half-smiled, "Why that'd be just, ah, swell."

Out in the palace corridors they were joined by Buddy and Alura as well as the younger pair's own valet. This one was also female though an air-breather with bright orange skin, a pair of tusks jutting from her lower jaw and remarkable bird-like legs ending in scaly, clawed feet. Despite the suggested ferocity of her anatomy, she seemed even more subservient and timid than Lontha.

Buddy and Alura were pleased to see Buck up and running again and, without going into as much telling detail as had Wilma, confirmed that they too had been well treated by their hosts.

"Can you believe this place?" Buddy asked Buck as they followed Lontha's lead. Unlike the comical excess of their living quarters, the halls and atriums of the palace were quite elegant and unified in design. The walls and ceilings were carved of a softly polished white stone similar to marble and placed along the walls at regular intervals were ionic columns no doubt used more for decoration that architectural necessity. Under foot were magnificent royal blue carpets and high above were stunning chandeliers composed of independently levitating jewel stones orbiting floating balls of light. Each door they passed was a golden marvel etched with geometric designs and centered with a large stylized sun or star shape bisected by the same lightning bolt design seen on every uniform they had seen thus far.

"It's something all right," Buck agreed.

"All of this just makes me miss my chambers back home," Alura said with the smallest sigh which was dispelled by a squeeze of her hand from Buddy.

Buck understood, still finding it hard to believe that just four years ago this young ensign had been a pampered princess of Mars, heir to the throne of the "Golden People," a lost colony of Earth explorers assumed dead by their beleaguered homeworld some two centuries before. She had done a lot of growing up since the Solar Scouts had rediscovered her people, her once stifling role of royal figurehead had been demolished under the unforgiving hand of war and the much gentler hand of first love. She and Buddy were Buck's family now, not just his crew, and he felt mightily protective of them. If there was a way to get them all back to Earth he would find it.

Lontha led them to an empty doorway that opened into a domed room surfaced in an unbroken shell of a mutely reflective gray substance with faint prisms of color playing across its face, moving as they moved. In all it felt like they were encased in a sphere made of mother-of-pearl. In the middle of the room, Lontha spread her arms and addressed them all.

"Honored guests of Earth, before you are to meet with he who embodies and protects the glory of Mongo it is his wish that you learn of the history of our greatest hero and the unique debt our world owes your Earth."

"What?" Buddy whispered.

"I think we're getting a lecture on local history," Wilma muttered in return as the room lights dimmed.

Out of the darkness suddenly came brilliantly illuminated letters, animated three-dimensional English characters more than four feet high, that proceeded to spell out what a booming disembodied voice narrated.

"The Mongo Chronicles, volume 638: Savior of the Universe!"

The text looped in circles through the air, wrapping around Buck and the others, appearing perfectly solid though proving intangible as Alura discovered when tentatively reaching out a hand. A throbbing musical score began, its repetitive bass notes and drum beats reverberating along the walls and under their feet.

And then the words exploded apart into sparkling particles, a dust cloud that coalesced above their heads, transforming into a spinning replica of the planet Mongo. At alarming speed their perspective changed as if they had zoomed towards the surface of the planet and one city in particular. Freedom City at an earlier age, a strange blend of medieval fortress and alien metropolis then known as "Mingo City."

"After more than three centuries of tyrannical rule during which he had subjugated all the peoples of Mongo and created an empire of scattered worlds across myriad galaxies, Ming the Merciless had settled into loathsome comfort, setting his frightening intellect to games of cruelty and conquest...."

The visuals of this highly inclusive "film" had taken the viewers even closer into what was to become the presidential palace. Closer still into the throne room of the emperor himself.

Buck, Wilma, Buddy and Alura were now witness to a chilling scene not recreated by actors but transcribed directly from history. The figure sitting languidly upon a tall, ornate throne seemed less a man and more like some artist's conceptualization of malevolence. The face under a bald skull bore similarities (as had Travin's) to the Asian people of Earth but it was the man's specific features that sent shudders through the film's viewers. The wicked arch of the eyebrows, the hooded, cruel eyes, the hooked aquiline nose and the sneering mouth framed by a mustache and beard that ended in sharp dangling points like spiders' legs.

Ming settled back, resting his head against the flat of his imperial robe's enormous spiked-halo collar.

"Klytus, I'm _bored_," he spoke, addressing his hooded, golden-masked aide-de-camp in a gravelly baritone voice. "What plaything can you offer me today?"

The armored man at the left side of Ming's throne raised a gloved hand. "An obscure body in the S-K system, your majesty," Klytus replied and the ring on his finger sparked, projecting a beam into the middle of the room. The beam terminated in a holographic display of a familiar blue and green world. "The inhabitants refer to it as the planet … _Earth,_" he continued, phrasing the name of Buck's home as if it left a particularly rancid taste in his mouth.

The film record went on to show how Ming had targeted Earth for conquest or destruction, announcing his intentions by actually _moving the entire planet of Mongo_ _into Earth's solar system_, setting it on a collision course with the third planet from the sun. Even at an orbital track more than halfway between Earth and Mars the appearance of Mongo and its slow but steady forward trajectory was enough to cause startling climatic changes across the unsuspecting globe. As the film relayed what was happening on Earth, Buck and his crew were alarmed to see the relative Earth dates of this interplanetary clash. It had occurred in 1934. Wilma looked to her husband but Buck hushed her before a question could form.

The story expanded its focus to show the chance alliance of three remarkable humans. A brilliant émigré scientist whose name Buck recalled from the press of his day, a beautiful raven-haired reporter, and a face that had become well known to the Solar Scouts – a muscular blond man, a former Olympic athlete and professional polo player named Steven "Flash" Gordon.

In an experimental craft of Professor Hans Zarkov's design, the three hapless Earthlings had ventured to the alien world threatening their planet's existence. But in doing so accomplished far more than they could have guessed.

Flash, Dale Arden and Professor Zarkov succeeded in saving Earth even at the cost of remaining on Mongo once it retreated to its proper place in the heavens. Over the course of years of struggle and adventure they also managed to unite the various races of Mongo in a worldwide rebellion against Ming. As he watched the scenes of another man's remarkable life unfold before him, Buck found himself admiring the dauntless drive of his fellow Earthman but even more he appreciated Gordon's fierce idealism which underscored his battle for a world of equal beings free of the yoke of imperial rule.

Though the epithet of "savior of the universe" was grossly hyperbolic, Buck and his crew were moved by the footage at the end of the chronicle's chapter.

The emperor was dead. Flash and his friends stood on the balcony of Ming's former palace addressing the whole populace of this fantastic world. And through the amazing medium of the multi-dimensional history film, Buck, Wilma, Alura and Buddy were there too, standing beside the players in the drama they had watched unfold. The proud, stout figure of Vultan, king of the "hawkmen," his substantial beard coiffed for the occasion and his wings folded at his back. Prince Thun of the "lion men," fiercely maned, his emerald cat's eyes keen and alert and his tail making random swipes through the air. Prince Barin of the forest dwelling tribes of Arboria, a dashing figure with one arm wrapped possessively around the waist of his beautiful and exotic betrothed Aura, the daughter of Ming himself. Standing united on the balcony these historical figures kept their thoughts to themselves and let Flash do the talking.

"Never forget what we did here today," Flash was saying, looking every inch the hero (wearing an iconic crimson tunic with the ubiquitous golden lightning bolt across his chest). His voice rang out firm and bold, a voice for the ages. "What _you_ did. Not as the member of a particular race or culture, but as part of the collective people of Mongo! Today let the dividers fall, let us all work together to rebuild our world, let each of us have a voice! Today you have become one people – today you have claimed your _freedom!_"

The roars were deafening, the sound of an entire planet giving voice to its joy. The future had never looked brighter and Flash Gordon shone just as bright. As he and Dale waved to the masses (and, unbeknownst to them, across centuries), he smiled that perfect, blinding smile.

The film faded out at this moment, the lights slowly transitioning up. The four Solar Scouts were dazzled, slowly blinking and readjusting to their stationary environment, when they heard the deep sigh from behind them.

"I tell you folks, that bit gets me every time."

Buck and the others turned to locate the speaker. What they found was a striking man in a combination of a richly colorful, skintight bodysuit and an exquisite set of robes of office. He was taller than Buck by a couple of inches and he was a sculpted specimen in contrast with the trim, athletic Earthman. Sprouting from his shoulder blades were two smallish wings like those of Vultan's people though these didn't look capable of lifting their owner off the ground. It was the man's face that drew the greatest attention however. The features were human with certain leonine aspects. There was a fine wide nose that angled downward in a "v" towards the suggestion of a lion's muzzle. The eyes were magnetic, large and canted as a cat's but the irises were crystal blue in color. There was no mane but a clean, wavy cut of golden hair clearly modeled after that of Mongo's greatest hero. The blend of hawk, lion and man was stunning and he appeared to Buck like something straight out of folklore or myth.

When he smiled it was with easy charm, grace and power. Alura and even Wilma found themselves blushing but Buck couldn't help but notice the fangs set amongst the man's gleaming teeth.

"Pleased to meet you at last," he said in the same relaxed tone he had used over the speakers at their arrival. He held out a gloved hand. "I'm Jefferson Thungordon, president of Free Mongo. You can call me Jeff."


End file.
